


My One And Only

by Yahtzee



Series: UB Season Five: New York, New York [12]
Category: Ugly Betty
Genre: Con Artists, Firefighters, Multi, courtroom shenanigans, kosher delis, the one where everybody finds out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's not really a Meade? As family and friends reel from the revelation, Betty finds herself trapped between two worlds ... figuratively, then literally. Is there a chance for her to save Daniel yet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My One And Only

Betty opened her eyes to see her B necklace lying on an unfamiliar nightstand, draped over a platinum man’s watch. At first she only had a bleary memory of fumbling to lay it there as she’d been falling asleep – and only then did she recall where she was, and why, and with whom. That was also when she recognized the soothing touch of fingers stroking through her long hair, and a smile spread across her face.

She rolled over to see Daniel propped up on pillows next to her, his expression both weary and tender. No wonder he was tired, after the week he’d had – and the night they’d just spent together.

“Good morning,” she murmured, propping herself up.

“Morning.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, slow and deep. Betty let him pull her across his body and cradle her against his chest; she surrendered to the kiss, head falling back, arms around Daniel’s neck. Already she could feel her pulse quickening in response to him, both the way he was touching her now and her memories of the night before.

And yet there was something almost too intense about the way he held her …

When they parted, breaths fast and shallow, Betty said, “Are you all right?”

For a moment, Daniel said nothing. Then he nodded toward the other bedside table, where she could see his phone. “I woke up before you. At first I was going to get you up too – but you looked so peaceful – and I figured I’d give you a few more minutes. And then I realized I could check my email to see if I’d gotten anything forwarded to me … and I did.”

“The DNA results.” Why wasn’t he celebrating? Or – no, it couldn’t be –

“Turns out Chaniel was telling the truth after all.”

Betty gaped at him. Despite all their various efforts to undermine Chaniel over the past few days, and this whirlwind trip to Missouri, she’d never seriously believed they were doing any of this for any purpose beyond steadying Daniel’s nerves. She’d never contemplated that the guy could be on the level. But DNA results didn’t lie. “Oh, my God. Daniel, are you okay?”

Daniel didn’t answer at first; he was clearly struggling for words. “Maybe? I mean, just at first – when I read it – it was like something had, I don’t know – like it just hit me and I couldn’t breathe – ”

Fiercely she pulled him back into her embrace. Daniel buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breaths coming deep and ragged – not tears, but the sound of someone fighting for control. Betty kissed his temple, his hair, clutching him close and feeling a stab of pure rage at Chaniel …

But that wasn’t fair, was it? If Chaniel had only been telling the truth all along – well, he’d still acted like a jerk about it, but he couldn’t have been much less confused or weirded out than Daniel himself.

That didn’t mean she could accept Daniel being in so much pain.

Yet when he leaned back from her, the battle for control seemed to have been won. “I knew,” he said simply. “Somehow, I knew. From the get-go. I should’ve written him off, but I couldn’t. Sometimes you just have a feeling, and I guess I did.”

 _He really will be all right,_ she realized. _Not today, not soon – but he will. He’s stronger than I give him credit for sometimes._

Betty thought of Bob and Cindy in their house across town – Daniel’s parents! – and felt the strangeness of it all wash over her anew. “What are you going to do?” she whispered, stroking one hand along his unshaven cheek. “Do you want to talk to the Pulaskis?”

“I’m not ready for that yet.” Daniel leaned his head against the padded headboard of the bed they shared, clearly considering. “I mean, they’ll have to know soon – Jesus, I have a sister I never met – whoa. It’s a lot.”

She pressed her lips to his, a swift touch, meant to remind him only that he was still safe and loved.

Despite everything, he smiled at her and framed her face in his hands. “Thanks for being here,” he murmured. “And you know – I’m going to be okay. It’s like you told me last night; I’m the same person. I don’t love my family any less. I know they don’t love me less. And I’m still the man in love with the most amazing woman in the world.”

Warmth flushed through Betty at the way he said that. Memories of last night – how he’d touched her, whispered to her, excited her – welled up, almost blotting out the dire situation he was in. But her love for him kept her focused. “What do we do now?”

“Head back to New York. Mom hasn’t been in touch – because she’s hoping I haven’t seen it.” His expression saddened more for his mother’s sake than it had for his own. “She wanted me not to know any sooner than I had to. But she’s got to be upset. I need to reach her and the rest of the family right away so we can figure out what happens next. Whether Chaniel gets any money, how we deal with him going-forward, all of that. Honestly – honestly, I want to make sure she doesn’t start drinking. Mom’s been great with her sobriety, but something like this – I don’t know.”

“She’s tough,” Betty insisted. “But yeah, she’ll feel so much better with you there.”

“Bob and Cindy – I’ll come back out here soon. Let them know. See where they want to go from there.” Daniel half-shrugged, a wistful smile on his face. “At least I liked them.”

“They’re great.”

“Yeah.”

Betty ran her hands through Daniel’s scruffy hair, studying his face carefully. Although she suspected he already understood this, this was a good time to make certain. “Nothing about you has changed. Nothing that matters, anyway. You’re still the most wonderful, caring guy I know. And I still love you like crazy.”

“As long as that’s true, I can handle everything else.” Daniel pulled her in for a kiss – this one hot and searching – and Betty pulled him downward into their rumpled sheets. As his hands sought her body, she opened her mouth beneath his and let them both get lost in the moment.

**

“You’re brooding,” Connor said.

Wilhelmina flicked a perfectly manicured hand at him, as if in dismissal. “If my facial muscles still reveal human emotion, I’ll have to up my Botox dose. So are you serious or just talking through your hat?”

“I wouldn’t have to look at your face to know. It’s your silence, Wilhelmina. The way you go so still. That’s always a sign your cobra mind is coiling up for a strike.”

They sat on her terrace, looking out over the street far below. The mimosas they drank were weak, but enough to soften the hard edges of her Sunday morning. Wilhelmina had intended to spend the day talking with Connor about her dreams of leaving MODE – and perhaps the United States – but since her glimpse of Alex Meade’s double a few days before, she’d been able to think of little else than the potential drama going on upstairs at Meade Publications.

 _Could Claire have had twins? Is this the second coming of Tyler? Or perhaps Bradford had an illegitimate child to match his wife’s._

Yes, the possibilities were outlandish, but no more so than most of the ups and downs of the Meade clan over the past several years.

“I can’t help sensing their weakness,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses against the summer sun. “Asking me to ignore problems with the Meades is like asking a shark not to smell blood in the water at a distance of ten miles.”

“You made me swear never to move against them again, for your sake.” Connor sighed heavily. “And to some extent, I feel as if Daniel and I have made peace. Not friends – hardly friends – but no longer enemies. So seeing you like this sets me back.”

He looked tired often these days. Tired and bored. Wilhelmina could hardly imagine the crushing frustration he had to feel. A man of Connor’s talents and intelligence, relegated to the role of househusband in a home that had a cleaning service already: If he didn’t chafe at the thought, she did for him. But whenever she tried to bring it up, he insisted that he needed nothing more in the world but her. Highly flattering, but unrealistic. Connor could no more content himself with Wilhelmina than she could content herself with him. This was why they loved one another – their insatiable appetites for sex, power, intrigue and excitement matched. Both of them would always need more, and would always want to cheer each other along the way.

But they could lead each other down a very dangerous path if they turned back to plotting against the Meades.

Didn’t she like danger?

This reformation thing was difficult.

“I can’t,” she said, reminding herself as much as him. “What happened with Tyler – it was bad enough as it was, and could have turned out even worse. I can’t go back there.”

“Are you reminding me or yourself?”

Wilhelmina pushed her sunglasses slightly down the bridge of her nose, the better to study Connor’s face. “Do you want me to give you an different answer?” she said. “Or do you just need me to remind you of your promise?”

He cocked his head, examining her as intently as she had him. “I might ask the same of you. Perhaps we both want the other to be the one to back down.”

“Do you regret it? Telling me you’d never go against the Meades again?”

“No,” Connor said. “Never. Willie – for you I’d do more than that. So don’t put this on me. I said I’d stand down, and I meant it. But if you’re changing your mind, this is the time to tell me.”

She looked out over the city. In the bright morning light, you could even believe a place as filthy as New York City could shine.

“I won’t change my mind,” Wilhelmina said, and tried to mean it.

**

Daniel tapped his credit card against the cab machine as he tugged his leather duffel over one shoulder, the better to get inside the house as soon as possible. Every second he was stuck out here watching “Taxi TV” was another second Mom was probably freaking out.

He and Betty had parted at the airport, kissing so heatedly that the taxi-stand attendant had asked them whether they didn’t just want to take a shuttle to the nearest hotel. Her presence had sustained him throughout the morning, particularly during the flight home, which had seemed to last three days instead of three hours. Holding Betty’s hand had felt like holding on to a lifeline. But they both understood that he needed to be alone with his family now. While Daniel could have shared even something this intimate and painful with her, he couldn’t assume Mom, Alexis, Tyler and DJ would feel the same way.

As he hurried up the steps to the mansion, the door swung open; standing there was Yoga, a deep-set frown on her face. “Is she okay?” Daniel said instead of hello.

“Barely.” Yoga ushered him in quickly. “Don’t think she slept a wink.”

 _How does Yoga know how much my mother sleeps or doesn’t sleep? Do I really want the answer to that question? Not today. That would be overload._

They were all huddled in the morning room, and to Daniel’s shock they each looked worse than he felt. Alexis’ hair was yanked back in a sloppy bun that looked as if she hadn’t washed it; Tyler leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed in front, as if hugging himself against a nonexistent chill. DJ hung his head, so obviously downcast that Daniel’s heart ached for him. But worst of all was his mother, who lifted her face to see him with a trembling lower lip.

“Oh, Mom,” Daniel said. “It’s okay.”

At the word Mom, her face crumpled, and he reached her just before she broke into tears.

Daniel wrapped his arms around her on the couch, folding her in his embrace. “It’s okay,” he said. “Mom, it’s okay. We’re going to be all right.”

“How can you say that?” DJ spoke up first. “This bad person has taken everything away from you.”

“Hey.” He said it to DJ, but Daniel knew the whole family needed to hear it. “Remember when we found out I wasn’t your dad? It didn’t make me love you any less. Not one bit. Did it make you love me less?”

“Of course not!” DJ protested.

“This isn’t any different. Nothing’s changed. Nothing that matters, anyway.” Daniel rubbed Mom’s shoulders, and she pulled herself into some semblance of calm.

“Sweetheart, how are you holding up?” she said, smoothing his hair and his shirt collar as if he were still a boy coming home messed and unruly from school. The thought of that nurturing – given to him in error, but given all the same – made Daniel swallow a lump in his throat. “God, I hate this.”

“I do too. But I’m holding up fine. I meant what I said.” Daniel looked from one to the other, even including Yoga, who seemed to be part of the Meades now even if only his mother knew precisely how she fit in. “A family isn’t about blood or chromosomes. It’s about loving each other. That didn’t change for me; I hope it didn’t change for any of you.”

“Of course not!” Mom hugged him again, and though she still looked exhausted and fragile, he could tell she’d taken strength from what he said – or, perhaps, from the fact that he was bearing up. She’d probably been suffering more thinking of his pain than her own. That was a mother for you.

And he was taking strength from all of them, too. As vulnerable and exposed as Daniel felt right now, he’d seen how they felt at the thought of losing him – and that was enough to tell him that they never would.

Was he actually dealing with this better than anyone else in the room? Apparently so.

Daniel straightened slightly and did something he rarely managed with both Mom and Alexis around: He took charge. “Okay. The lawyers will have to set up a meeting with Chaniel … maybe we need another name for him. I don’t know. It has to be soon, but let’s put it off to Tuesday. That gives us a day to figure out how we deal him into the business, if we do.”

“We don’t,” Alexis insisted. “That fucktard doesn’t know a damn thing about the magazine business.”

Daniel pointed out, “I didn’t either, not that long ago. But he’s said he doesn’t want any part of it. That means I can stay put. He’s going to get partial ownership rights – either mine or an equal share carved out of the whole – ”

“Equal share,” Tyler said, shifting awkwardly from his place against the wall. “Dealing him in can’t mean dealing you out.”

“We have to make sure he can’t start screwing with your decisions, though.” Alexis had begun thinking tactically too; having a concrete matter to deal with had focused her. “That means making sure we retain the upper hand on all the boards.”

“You’d have to return to Meade Publications,” Daniel said. “You’d have to give up La Sagesse, wouldn’t you?”

His sister had kept herself busy these past few years running “La Sagesse De Partage,” a charity that worked to get lower-income students in France into the Grandes Ecoles colleges from which the nation’s business and political leaders invariably graduated. Daniel thought it was an awesome idea, but he suspected his sister made an uneasy do-gooder.

She shrugged. “I can manage things well enough from here.”

He doubted this but decided to trust her judgment. La Sagesse wasn’t his concern, and he had enough to worry about at the moment. “So we get Alexis on the board, as of Monday. Tyler, we should get you in too.”

“I don’t know anything about magazines,” Tyler protested. “Except posing for them.”

“So vote like I tell you to.” Alexis smoothed back a few escaped tendrils of hair; the gaze she directed at Daniel was almost unnervingly intense. “You’ve come a long way, Daniel. You wouldn’t have understood how to head this guy off a few years ago.”

“You’d have had to scrape me out of the gutter a few years ago,” Daniel confessed. “But everything’s changed since then.”

Starting with Betty, he wanted to say, and would have, if DJ hadn’t interrupted. “You’re sure you’re not sad, Daniel?”

Daniel put one arm around DJ. “I am sad. But I have my family with me, and that makes it okay.”

DJ smiled and nodded. Mom rested her head against his shoulder, and Alexis sighed as if she was finally at ease. Tyler still seemed somewhat awkward – his own status in the family was so new that this was probably doubly weird for him, Daniel rationalized. Yet he knew that his brother remained in this along with the rest of the Meades.

How was it that he’d never felt his family’s bond to be tighter than it was right now, when he knew it wasn’t only blood? Daniel wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

Alexis broke the gentle silence between them by saying, “It’s only a matter of time before the tabs get this, or Fashion TV.”

“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” Daniel said. “I guess they’ll have to find out eventually. At least the news is contained for now.”

**

“Daniel’s a cuckoo in the Meade nest?” Marc said, aware he was gaping in a very inelegant manner but unable to stop. “Shut UP.”

“Totally true.” Amanda stuffed another fistful of caramel popcorn into her mouth. “So maybe that’s why Tyler is being such a weirdo.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t realize you and Daniel had bumped uglies.”

“I know, right? We couldn’t have been more obvious about it without putting it on one of the Times Square tickers. But I guess Tyler wasn’t here for any of that.”

They sat together in the photo studio, readying the Christmas shoot. Foil-wrapped stars hung in front of brilliant crimson glittery backgrounds, and various models milled about getting their makeup done and bitching about having to model white leather suits on one of the hottest days of the year so far. When January came, they’d gripe about having to model swimsuits in the snow. Models never did understand: Magazine reality wasn’t like real reality.

As Amanda folded silver foil around yet another star, Marc wondered again about the shift in Daniel Meade’s fortunes. How would he react himself if he found out he wasn’t his mother’s biological son? _With relief,_ Marc decided; that wasn’t easy to accept, but it was true. Another mom would be another chance at a mother who welcomed him no matter what. Although he missed his mom, and keenly felt the separation from the rest of his family, Marc didn’t regret making his life all about the people who accepted him and saying goodbye to the people who didn’t.

For Daniel – whom Marc had come to like despite himself – hopefully, things would work out better.

“I just don’t get it,” Amanda said disconsolately. “I thought Tyler liked me as a wild child. Wild children get around. That’s where the ‘wild’ part comes in.”

“It’s a Madonna/whore complex,” Marc decided.

Amanda frowned. “How does Madonna come into it? Does she have a new album out?”

“No, and hello, what’s taking her so long? Does she want to be completely eclipsed by Gaga? I digress. The point is, Tyler has to accept you as who you are, and accept that you’ve done all the many colorful things you’ve done, or it won’t work.” Marc studied the placement of the stars in their red glitter sky and pushed one gingerly to the left. “Because, trust me, honey, there is no de-slutting you.”

She nodded, accepting this as truth. “You can’t put the champagne back in the bottle. Though you can put the champagne bottle back in your … ”

“Please, no more,” Marc interrupted, just in time. Amanda simply sighed and attacked the caramel popcorn with new vigor.

As she munched away, Marc heard some commotion from HUDSON’s part of the photo studio. He glanced over and felt a smile light up his face as he glimpsed Cliff among the crew there. What would be a good excuse to saunter over? Marc decided that a sequined sling was excuse enough.

Sure enough, when he approached, Cliff excused himself from the others to meet him in the neutral ground between the two magazines’ photo areas. “Marc! You’re back!”

“Been here a week now,” Marc said. “You can only watch so much ‘All My Kids’ at the homestead, you know? I wanted to return to my seat of power. Get back to the creative work at MODE.”

Cliff folded his arms. “Wilhelmina only gave you one week off.”

“Well, yes. That too.” They shared a smile so conspiratorial that it reminded Marc of other shared jokes, far more private and personal. How could he remember everything funny thing Cliff had said to him even years later? “Heard you sold our big hostage-night photos for a mint.”

“Enough for a down payment on an apartment!”

Marc had to stare. “Are you serious?”

“Well. If I’m willing to live above 200th Street.”

Perish the thought. “Congrats on the big check. And the big get, too – VANITY FAIR. The cover, maybe? That would be something else. A big step for you.” Marc hoped that Cliff would launch into his glorious plans for the future, all of which Marc could encourage and embroider upon as a subtle way of getting Cliff to envision Marc as a part of that future. Instead, a slightly awkward silence descended, which Marc ended by asking, “So, what’s HUDSON featuring this Christmas?”

“Cashmere balaclavas and angora muffs.”

“For men?”

“Hey, sometimes you’ve got to roll the dice. Or so they tell me.” Cliff shrugged, a hint of his old sheepish grin on his face. “I still wear a pair of nylon gloves I got from LL Bean on clearance five years ago.”

Obviously Marc still kept their old relationship alive in his heart, because he didn’t even have to work to keep himself from shuddering at the memory of those things, reflective tape and all. Well, he didn’t have to work very hard, anyway. “So, I still love coffee as much as I used to, but I’m finding it harder to add my own sugar with one hand. This makes me think I should invite someone to coffee with me soon. Someone like you.”

Smooth, right? And there was no mistaking the moment of light in Cliff’s eyes. But he shook his head. “Marc – I don’t know. We shouldn’t retread.”

“We’re not retreading,” Marc insisted. “When’s the last time you helped me while I wore a sling?”

“I didn’t mean … never mind.” Cliff ran one hand through his hair, which mussed his perfect coif into a semblance of its old sloppy self. This was how Marc knew he had it bad; he realized he’d actually missed the messy hair. Dear God. “Marc, I have to think about this. Okay?”

Although Marc wanted to scream, rend his hair and/or throw himself on the ground in a tantrum, whichever would be most dramatic, he managed to simply nod. “Then think and get back to me.”

“Will do.” Cliff gave him a searching look as though he wanted to say more – and Marc certainly longed for him to. But he simply turned back to the HUDSON shoot and the cashmere balaclavas.

Well, it was a beginning. It was okay if Cliff made Marc chase after him for a while; his arm might be in a sling, but his legs were just fine – and ready to run the distance.

**

Betty braced herself in her office chair, winced, slowly extended one finger – and clicked on her in-box. Then her eyes widened, because it was even worse than she’d feared.

How could that much email have piled up over a weekend? How?

Then again, Betty thought as she scrambled to put them in some rough order of importance, maybe she’d gotten a bit spoiled at MODE, where staffers considered the weekends sacred. At NYRB, obviously, people were more likely to err on the side of workaholism – a mindset she hadn’t exactly embraced yet.

Two more sets of potential edits to her article on Pachuca gangs of the 1940s – everyone polished everyone else’s work here, and Betty found herself cringing at the sheer number of queries and comments she’d have to address. Then there were four more articles from other writers seeking her input; the topics ranged from the history of productions of “The Seagull” in New York to the conscription of children into Somali pirate gangs. She wouldn’t even be able to start reading these properly until she’d done some research. How was she ever going to be able to research them all in time? And before the next story conference tomorrow?

As panic began rising, Betty took a few deep breaths, rationalized that the best way to deal with the fact that she had a problem was to admit it, and did what she’d always done in times of severe crisis: She took it to her boss.

But Jackson Noble wasn’t Daniel Meade.

Jackson sat behind his desk (piled high with papers and galleys), underneath a poster advertising John Malkovich’s Broadway role in “Burn This,” and frowned. “I thought I’d made it clear that the workload here is demanding.”

“You did. Absolutely. I think I just failed to understand how demanding ‘demanding’ could be.”

He sighed. “Listen, Betty, your first pitch turned out to be dynamite. You have obvious talent and potential – anyone can see that. And I realize that, since you’ve started here, you’ve had to deal with some extraordinary challenges.”

“Like amnesia.”

“Exactly.” Leaning forward across his desk – as much as he could, given the work piled high upon it – Jackson said, “We’re giving you the time to get up to speed. But I need to see signs that you’re using that time. The ups and downs of your personal life – even that nightmare with Victoria Hartley – you can’t afford to let them take you over.”

Betty felt stung. She’d expected to be told everything was all right, really; instead, Jackson was tacitly informing her that she was falling beneath expectations. Worst was the knowledge that he was being completely fair; obviously, he’d made more allowances for her various problems than she had made for her new magazine’s different work ethic.

Cheeks burning, Betty said, “I’ll be up to speed by the end of this week at the latest. Before then if I can manage it.”

“That sounds like a place to start.” Jackson pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose. “Just remember – you can’t divide your loyalties. You have to be willing to put this magazine first, at least some of the time. Enough of the time.”

“No divided loyalties. Check.” She nodded so quickly that her glasses got slightly jostled.

As she took her place back at her desk, she noticed that the mailroom guys had left a small package for her – a padded envelope from “Meade Publications.” Betty tore it open to find a note from Daniel:

 _Maybe it doesn’t count as a “present,” exactly, but I missed you so much last night that all I could think about was giving you these._

From the bottom of the envelope she shook out a set of keys, obviously the keys to Daniel’s apartment.

Betty folded her fingers around them almost reverently. While Daniel had possessed a copy of her keys since a few weeks since she’d moved into her Manhattan flat, that had been purely about friendship and emergency backup. This was deeper, a tangible symbol of the fact that their relationship – even though it was new – was significant, important, committed. She hadn’t needed keys to tell her that, but she still liked the feel of them in her palm.

No, she wouldn’t have traded this weekend for anything, even if it had put her even further behind at NYRB.

But what now? How was she supposed to deal with everything she needed and Daniel needed and a demanding job on top of that? How could her loyalties be anything but divided?

 _This isn’t Daniel’s fault,_ Betty thought. She’d sidetracked herself to deal with his crises before – but this time, he hadn’t asked her to. She’d made that decision on her own. And she refused to believe there wasn’t a way to be loyal to the people she loved and the job she intended to hold for a long time to come.

**

Daniel had never been a big fan of Mondays. First of all, they started off the workweek, and he still hadn’t quite worked his way around to being a fan of workweeks, period. Second, in the past month, he’d been forced to realize how much of his Monday coping mechanism was looking forward to walking in and seeing Betty in the morning – now that she was across town.

This Monday, though – this one was supersized. Extra-Monday. Monday with double the weight.

The whole day, he had to attempt to take care of MODE and Meade business while sneaking in conference calls with his family and their lawyers. The legal team seemed to agree that the courts would be far more likely to give Chaniel an equal share of Meade than they would be to disinherit Daniel and hand his part over. “Good faith,” “established relationship,” “work history,” blah blah blah: It all boiled down to the fact that Chaniel almost certainly couldn’t throw Daniel out of the family business. With the rest of the family allied behind Daniel, there was no way it could ever happen.

Would that remain true, though?

Daniel didn’t doubt for a second that his mother, Alexis and DJ loved him precisely as much as they had before. But Alexis had dealt him dirty a few times – more than a few – even while loving him. Family affection was no guarantee, with her. Then again, the chances of her allying herself with Chaniel instead seemed remote … at least, for the time being.

Tyler had been oddly quiet and strange ever since the big reveal. Their relationship was, perhaps, too new to take a blow like this without suffering from damage. Only a few short months ago, Daniel hadn’t wanted to let Tyler into the Meade family at all – and this despite thinking they were definitely related by blood. Could he blame Tyler for not reacting any better? And maybe Tyler would come around, just as Daniel had. Though hopefully it wouldn’t take another hostage crisis to put things right: After the Victoria Hartley incident, Daniel profoundly hoped never to deal with anything like that ever again.

The one bright spot in his long, long day was thinking of Betty. Around lunch, he sent her his keys; maybe it was too early to ask her to move in, but at least he could make it clear that he liked thinking about it. Although she seemed as deeply swamped at work as he was, they exchanged a few texts during the day – just little updates and hellos and hearts – that nonetheless felt like his lifeboat in a stormy sea.

Between the work and the meetings, Daniel didn’t get to walk out of Meade Publications until almost 10 p.m. As he got in the elevator to ride down, he saw that Sofia Reyes was already there in a tailored red suit, looking as tired as he felt.

Had he ever actually been freaked out by the mere possibility of riding in an elevator with her? God, the days when his problems had been that small seemed so pleasant, and so far-away.

“Hey, Sofia,” he said, gratefully unknotting his tie. “How’s NYW doing?”

“Trying to think of ways to boost circulation – so, like everyone else in the building.”

“That’s the truth.” MODE remained strong and steady; the rest of Meade Publications was only marginally better from where it had been a year and a half ago when the company had nearly folded. “We might have an editors’ retreat in a month or two – get people together to brainstorm. No dates yet, but we’ll let you know, okay?”

Sofia cocked her head as she studied him. “Do you know, that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me totally naturally since – well. You know since when.”

Daniel shrugged. “The past is the past.” Already the whole debacle with Sofia felt like something that had happened in another life, to another Daniel. In some senses, it had.

“Well, I just wanted to say that I’m glad we can talk again.”

He wasn’t sure they were anywhere near the chatty-friends stage, and was trying to think of a tactful way to say so, when the elevator doors opened and he saw Chaniel standing in the lobby. Waiting for him, no doubt.

His first impulse was to flee. Where was the emergency exit? Maybe somebody could pull the fire alarm.

Then he realized this was inevitable. He had to face Chaniel sometime; maybe it was better now, before the tomorrow’s hearing. But he knew he didn’t want anybody watching.

Daniel turned to Sofia. “Listen, I need to talk to … this guy. In private. If you don’t mind.”

Sofia instantly said, “You know, I’ve never given the side door a fair chance.”

When he grinned at her this time, the smile was finally real.

As her heels click-clacked across the marble floor, getting farther away, Daniel steered himself toward Chaniel. To his surprise, Chaniel looked less triumphant, more intimidated. Maybe he’d finally looked up the sheer number of addictions and psychological disorders than ran in the Meade family.

“Waiting for me?” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice even.

“Waiting for – our mother,” Chaniel replied. Maybe the our was meant to be a concession to the fact that Daniel still belonged to the Meade family; still, it grated.

“She didn’t actually come in today. Yoga’s looking after her at the house.”

“She’s doing yoga at the house?”

“No, that’s – you’ll find out.” Daniel wasn’t nearly ready to sit down and give Chaniel a primer on the Meades. Let him discover it all exactly how Daniel had: The hard way. “You need to take it easy with Mom tomorrow. This is going to take a lot of time, for her. If you rush her, you’ll make it worse.”

“To me it feels like I’ve been waiting a long time already.” It was the kind of thing Chaniel had said before, always cocksure and defiant; now Daniel could hear an edge of loneliness beneath his voice. Finding out you were swapped at birth couldn’t be easy, even if it did play into your own arrogant ambitions. That wasn’t exactly sympathy Daniel felt, but he saw a human being standing there now, instead of a monster.

So he spoke more gently. “Mom’s going to have to forgive you for being who you are. Forgive the Pulaskis for raising you. Forgive fate. A lot of things.” Daniel rolled up his sleeves in preparation for walking out into the sweltering night. “The first thing you’d better understand about being a Meade is that it’s not about raking in the dough. Mostly it’s about doing a lot of forgiving.”

Chaniel blinked at him, clearly not understanding. He seemed to think Daniel was taunting him in some way he didn’t comprehend, because he shot back, “I’ve done nothing to forgive.”

“I doubt Bob and Cindy would say so.”

“You talked to them? Already?” Chaniel’s face whitened, and both anger and vulnerability battled beneath the surface of his studied expression.

“No. But I met them this weekend. Just ... talked.”

“So you see where you should have come from all along.” The way Chaniel said this made it clear that he thought nothing could be more humiliating – as if there were anything to be ashamed about in that little white house near the pond.

Daniel’s resolve to keep his temper frayed. “I see that Bob and Cindy deserved a better son. Maybe now they’ll get one.”

With that, he pushed his way through the door; Chaniel didn’t follow.

Though it was a long walk and the city was sweltering, heat radiating upward from the pavement that had soaked up sun all day, Daniel went home on foot. He wanted the time to just breathe and be. To see how many things around him hadn’t changed, and how his place among these tall buildings and glittering lights had always been pretty insignificant. Swaggering around as the scion of the Meade family all those years – it had never been anything but a crutch for his insecurities, and he found he preferred walking on his own two feet.

When he went inside his front door, he glanced down to the small bench he’d put for people’s shoes – where a pair of yellow polka-dotted heels rested.

Smiling, he kicked off his own loafers and headed through the apartment. However, everything seemed quiet. A few of Betty’s papers were spread out in the home office, and her emerald-green handbag rested on the kitchen counter, but Betty herself seemed absent.

Then he walked into the bedroom and saw her lying there, fast asleep.

 _She came here to surprise me when I walked in,_ Daniel realized. _But I worked so late, and she had such a rough day, that she ran out of gas._

He hung up his clothes, put away his things and crawled into bed beside her. As he lifted the covers, Betty stirred and opened her eyes. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I was only going to nap.”

“Shhh.” Daniel pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead, breathed in the soft scent of her hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, no. I’m awake. I am.” Betty propped herself up on one arm. She wore only the white camisole that must have been under her dress and her underwear; Daniel had intended to let her rest, but seeing those curves again – the curves he’d only just started getting to know – filled him with more energy than he’d known he still possessed. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Fine.” He kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, as he cupped one hand around the curve of her thigh. “Better than fine. How are you?”

Betty blinked, obviously stirring to wakefulness. She arched against his touch in a way that told him she wasn’t nearly ready to fall asleep again yet. “I worked late at the office. Then I worked late here.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Did you know Vanessa Redgrave’s performance as Nina in ‘The Seagull’ is the one by which all other actresses are judged?”

“Yeah, Bar Rafaeli and I were talking about that just the other day.” Daniel kissed the tip of her nose as she giggled at his joke.

Even as she smiled up at him, dark eyes shining, he could see her deeper concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He felt more certain of his place on earth than he ever had, and Betty loved him. How could that ever be called merely “okay”?

Daniel rolled her onto her back, covering her body with his own. As he lowered his mouth over hers, he whispered, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

**

Several blocks away, on the terrace of one of the better hotel bars in Manhattan, Chaniel stood with his martini in hand. At the sound of footsteps, he turned his head. “Wondered when you’d make an appearance.”

“I couldn’t get away earlier,” said Connor Owens.

“You were the one who demanded the meeting. You could at least be on time.”

“Wilhelmina can’t know about this.” Connor ran one hand over his close-shorn hair. His skin felt grimy with panic sweat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Fulfilling the plans we made together,” Chaniel shot back. “Or have you forgotten?”

“It was my plan. Mine. You were never supposed to do this without me.”

“It’s not my fault you lost your courage.”

“That’s not what happened.”

When he’d first been released from prison, Connor had remained angry at Daniel Meade for reasons both valid and invalid. Months of forced inactivity had taken a toll as well – he’d needed to strike out at someone, anyone, and he’d had this in his back pocket for a while. So he’d approached Chad Pulaski and shown him the possibilities.

He’d never envisioned this spiraling so far beyond his control.

Chaniel said, “If you didn’t chicken out, why did you leave me to execute this on my own?”

“Willie understood I was up to something regarding the Meades. She was completely wrong about what it was – but it doesn’t matter. She made me swear to drop it, and I have.” He’d sworn on his love for her, which was the one promise he could ever make that was truly sacred. Connor sighed heavily as he leaned against the terrace railing. His downcast eyes absently counted the mustard-yellow cabs darting along the dark streets beneath. “I thought maybe she wanted to take that back – but she doesn’t, and it hardly matters. I don’t need revenge against Daniel Meade any longer.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think? Because I still need a family.” Chaniel looked almost wistful. “Do you suppose it’s true after all? I can’t help wondering. The family resemblance – the shared birthdays – and now, the DNA test.”

Connor hastily interjected, “They went to the premier lab in the city; the Meades would never have considered going anyplace else. I bribed the testers there long ago. Remember how I told you that?”

“And yet, the results might have been the truth. Why would the testers return the bribe if all they had to do was tell the truth? I suppose you might ask for a refund, but it’s tricky business.”

“Stop deluding yourself,” Connor snapped. It was important to get a handle on this, immediately. “You need to walk away. Get out of New York. Leave the Meades alone.”

“Too late for that. The test results are in.” Chaniel took the final swallow of his martini and gestured to the waiter for another. “I’m seeing this through, Connor, whether you like it or not. And you’re going to let me. You have to, don’t you? Because if you reveal that this was your scheme all along – you’ll lose Wilhelmina. And with a prison record, no job and no money, you’d be left with absolutely nothing. Wouldn’t you?”

Connor didn’t answer. He couldn’t. It was all too true.

The waiter brought the next martini, but Chaniel pointed at Connor. “It’s for him. I suspect he needs it.” As Connor numbly took the drink, Chaniel said, “You’ll get the tab, won’t you?”

Then he strode off, leaving Connor standing there in the night, utterly alone.

**

 

“I think you’re using a weak transition to lead into an incredible insight,” Betty said, tucking one lock of hair behind her ear and hoping that little bite mark didn’t show beneath the shoulder strap of her burnt orange dress. “What you’re talking about, with the connections to themes in ‘Hamlet’ – that’s too good to bury. I think you should bring that out a lot earlier, and a lot stronger.”

The writer – a bony woman with an asymmetrical haircut and chunky glasses frames that screamed “Williamsburg, courtesy of a down payment from the trust fund” – nodded and smiled slowly. “You’re right. I thought of that angle late – but it deserves more attention than I’ve given it.”

“Nice points, Betty,” Jackson said, and though his voice was light, the glance he gave her was meaningful.

Somehow, against all odds, she’d gotten more or less up to speed in only a day. That was because she’d thrown herself into research all day long, feverishly reading sources both online and paper. Because she’d hauled books home to work at Daniel’s, curling up at his trendy aluminum-and-recycled-timbers table to write and read for hours before she’d finally crashed in his bed.

Then Daniel had come home, and work had been the last thing on her mind the rest of the night – or for one glorious hour early this morning – but she’d still had time to double down on her efforts in the final minutes before the story meeting. Betty felt like she needed to sleep for a thousand years, but she also felt like she was a real, contributing member of the NYRB staff. That was worth having to chug an extra cappuccino.

Jackson flipped through his notes before adding, “And actually, Betty, you’re up next.”

She adjusted her glasses and took a deep breath. “The drag article has evolved from one that featured Pachuca gangs in passing to one focused on the gangs, and only later connecting them to society’s fascination with drag. I’m looking at why this side of Latina culture, and homosexual culture, is so much forgotten – and why the former members themselves often act as if they prefer to forget their time on the other side of the law.”

Everyone still seemed focused on her. That had to be good, right? Betty hoped she didn’t have part of her apple Danish still stuck in her teeth or something.

Plowing on, Betty said, “This is more than mere historical revisionism, or even the happy amnesia all of us sometimes use to veil our own pasts.” As someone who had just lived through a more literal amnesia, she understood too well how seductive it could be to lay aside later complications and focus on more innocent times. “I think that the significant thing to bring out is that these women always had to lead divided lives. They were loyal to their heritage as Mexican women – but that came with certain traditional baggage about what women should and shouldn’t be. They were loyal to one another as lesbians – but that asked them to stand apart from their other identities. They always had one foot in another world; they never got to be just one person, in just one place. It’s complicated. I think working on the theme of divided loyalties not only plays up the problems these women faced, but leads well into talking about today’s drag culture – where mainstream fashionability is at war with drag’s radical and transgressive origins.”

People around the table nodded and murmured. Nobody dove in to edit her – not because of lack of interest, Betty thought, but because they agreed. Maybe … maybe they were even a little bit impressed.

“Nice work,” Jackson said, and he clearly meant it. This time, when Betty’s cheeks flushed, the reason was pride.

Once the meeting was over, Betty hurried back to her office; she might have made a lot of headway in twenty-four hours, but she still had a lot of editing to do before the end of the day – and today, it was especially important to leave on time. As she sat down at her desk, though, her phone rang; she looked down at the screen to see her latest “Contact” photo of Hilda, one taken while she had on no makeup and one palm extended toward the lens, as if to block the picture. “Hilda! What’s up?”

“Just checking in on your big story meeting. It went okay?”

“Went great, actually.” Betty couldn’t resist a grin. The same divided loyalties that had tormented the Pachuca gangs weren’t holding her back; she could be loyal to everyone in her life, in their own place and time. “Are you guys headed to Papi’s appointment at the cardiologist?”

“Any second now, if someone will decide what tie he wants to wear already!”

In the distance, Betty heard her father protest, “It’s not the right shade of red! I’ve been reading MODE for the past four years, you know. I have standards now!”

Stifling her laughter, Betty said, “You’ll call me right after, okay? Let me know how it goes?”

“Actually, I was thinking – if they see us on time, and God only knows with the doctor’s office, am I right? But if they do, we would get out in time to come to Daniel’s hearing. You said it was open to friends and family. Well, we’re both. If you think he’d want us there – ”

“Oh, Hilda, I know he would!” Betty’s heart seemed to swell within her chest. “This is going to be hard for him, no matter how well he’s been handling it. This hearing – it’s the moment he gets divided from the person he always thought he was, you know? Having people who love him close by has to help.”

“Okay, text me the address, and we’ll try to be there.” Hilda paused. “Tried to call you about this last night at your house. Were you out?”

“I was at Daniel’s.” That should have been obvious, Betty thought.

“Of course. He needed a friend there – oh, okay, now you’re happy with that tie? We can actually go see the doctor who helps keep you alive?”

With great dignity, Papi answered, “Once you find a better handbag.”

“Oh, my God! This one. The fashionista! We gotta go, Betty. See you this afternoon at the hearing, okay?”

“Okay!” How great that Daniel would have a whole cheering section there for him.

Something about that conversation seemed a little off to Betty, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. It couldn’t have been very important, though. All that mattered was reclaiming her job, her boyfriend and her family – bringing them together instead of letting them pull her apart.

**

The lawyers sat in front of Daniel like a sort of wool-blend Stonehenge – gray, staring monoliths that seemed to have him surrounded.

“You’ll retain your positions at MODE and Meade Publications overall,” said the grayest among them. “Those are matters of employment rather than inheritance.”

“Good to know,” Daniel said. Although the salaries he drew were only a small fragment of what he was used to living on, it was good to know he could rely on them. “The rest?”

“You’ll retain a part ownership in the Park Avenue mansion, though of course your part will be diminished from a third to a fourth. The same goes for your ownership share in Meade. More problematic are the funds you’ve inherited from relatives other than your father; those wills often speak about Bradford Meade’s younger son, which no longer appears to be you.”

Daniel winced. Great-Aunt Thelma had been probably his most generous benefactor. “Do I have to turn that money over to him?”

“We can probably negotiate a fifty-fifty split.”

Half of his personal net worth was still a lot of money – and yet only half of what it had been before. He tried to make a joke of it: “Good thing I paid for my apartment in cash, huh?”

“It’s unlikely that the other Daniel could assert any property rights.”

 _The other Daniel._ Those words remained difficult to hear. Then again, he couldn’t expect the guy to go by Chaniel forever.

“Have we heard from his lawyers yet?” Daniel asked. “About what he wants?”

“Nothing specific. We’ll have to wait for the hearing.”

With a sigh, Daniel nodded and made his way through the rest of the meeting.

Today was a somber one at MODE. Although his mother had been well enough to come in to work, she remained holed up in at HOT FLASH, trying to lose herself in the time-consuming, brain-numbing work of reviewing magazine proofs. Alexis had been setting up her new office with unsettling zeal. Wilhelmina had taken to casting narrow-eyed glances in his direction, the kind of looks he remembered from a few years ago; they usually meant he was about to be blackmailed or fired. But he figured right now, Wilhelmina Slater was the least of his problems.

At least, at lunch, he had the time to cheer himself up in the best way possible.

“Why do kosher delis always make the best chicken soup?” Betty asked as they settled in at a corner table in the crowded deli. The roar of the lunch crowd ironically made the place feel more private; Daniel could say anything and not be overheard. “They do, though. Is there something about, like, being sacred that makes the soup better?”

“I don’t think this place is sacred. But yeah, the soup’s great.”

She gave him a look. “You haven’t touched yours.”

Busted. “I guess I still don’t feel like eating.”

Betty reached across the table to take his hand. “Is it sinking in?”

“Trust me, it already sank. Like the Titanic.” Daniel sighed. “I meant what I said. I’m going to be okay. This hearing, though – it’s going to hurt.”

“I’ll be there. So will lots of other people who love you. We’re going to be by your side the whole way.”

“Don’t leave work early for me.” She’d told him about the weirdness at NYRB. How could anybody fail to see how spectacular Betty was from day one? Well, okay, he had, but he was still acting like a doofus back then. Other people should have higher standards.

“I won’t. But I’ll get there no matter what,” Betty promised.

He rubbed his thumb against her palm, little circles. “You know what gets to me the most right this second? He wants to be called Daniel. And I definitely don’t want to be called Chad.”

“That’s going to be weird,” she agreed. Then a small smile played on her lips. “I guess we could rename you.”

“Oh, yeah?” It hurt less, making a game of it. “What name would you pick?”

“I don’t know. Something sexy.” Her fingers caught one of his, the smallest and most playful caress imaginable, but it was enough to send warmth coursing through him.

“Sexy.” Daniel pretended to think about it with great concentration. “Like, say – Mumford.”

“Mumford?” Betty’s laughter rang out over the lunch-rush din. “No! Something super hot. Really hot. Like Jerome.”

“Jerome. Jerome Mumford Meade-Pulaski. Yeah, let’s go with that.” He couldn’t help grinning. It was tough to keep his spirits up today, but Betty always found a way.

**

 _If the ex will not come to an afternoon coffee, the afternoon coffee will just have to come to the ex._

Thanks to his vigilant security efforts (i.e., bribing L’Amanda with the promise of his next swag pick from the MODE Closet), Marc was alerted when Cliff left the building in midafternoon. If old habits held true, he was headed to that afternoon coffee, and Marc knew just the spot he preferred.

 _This isn’t stalking,_ he thought as he hurried through the lobby, adjusting the lapels of his magenta jacket for maximum suavity. _It’s – romantic-comedy stalking! So much different. Not nearly as disturbing or likely to lead to prosecution._

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, he saw Cliff heading into his old favorite, Cup-A-Cino. Marc rarely went there – it was all so homey and plain and low-key, none of which were his adjectives. But it was just Cliff’s kind of place, and if that was where Marc was to drink his afternoon coffee every day for the rest of his life, then he’d do it happily.

He hurried in – dear God, it was blazing hot, and smelling like sweat would not help his suit here – and realized that Cup-A-Cino was almost empty. It was after the lunch rush, before the oh-lord-how-do-I-get-through-the-rest-of-the-afternoon-without-caffeine rush. Cliff already sat at a table by himself, a steaming mug in front of him. He raised his head only as Marc walked right up to him.

“Hot coffee even in summer,” Marc said, taking a seat. “You never go for the iced coffee.”

Cliff said, as Marc had known he would, “Iced coffee isn’t coffee.” Marc mouthed the words as they were spoken, which made Cliff grin. But the smile faded quickly. “Listen, Marc – ”

“I know. I know. I heard you, okay? But I don’t think you heard me.”

Running one hand through his hair – getting shaggy again, oh sweetly familiar sight – Cliff said, “Marc, please.”

“You want me to drop it,” Marc said. “And I don’t blame you. Cliff, the way I treated you – it was selfish, and stupid, and hurtful. I’ve regretted it every single day of my life since. Because you were the guy. The one. The Mr. Big to my Carrie Bradshaw. I was never as happy with anybody else as I was with you. And I thought – tell me if I’m wrong, but before I went and messed everything up, I thought you were happy with me too.”

For a long moment, they only stared at one another. Everything in the coffee house seemed amplified to Marc: The jangly neo-sixties music on the speakers, the smell of roasting java, the way the afternoon sunlight slanted across the far side of the room. Then Cliff nodded … the smallest gesture, but one that sent hope blazing through Marc’s heart.

He continued, “I’ve always known I wanted another chance. But I don’t think I dared to hope that you might want one too until this.” A flick of Marc’s fingers took in the sequined sling, and what it stood for – that terrible night when Victoria Hartley had shot him, and they’d all come far too close to dying. “You shielded me, Cliff. You risked your life for me. And maybe it’s empty saying this, just words, but I swear to God, if you’d been the one hurt, I would have done that for you. Because I still love you. I know you don’t love me again yet, but if you’d give me another chance, I think we could make it work. I really do. Please think about it.”

That was the longest non-ironic speech he’d ever given, Marc thought. He’d have to hand in his Manhattanite card. But weren’t they in a post-ironic society? Wasn’t it time to be sincere?

Looking at Cliff, he definitely thought so.

It seemed like ages before Cliff spoke. Maybe thirty whole seconds. But finally he met Cliff’s eyes again and said words almost too glorious to believe: “Of course I still love you.”

“Oh, my God.” It actually made Marc’s head swim. Was this what it meant to swoon?

But Cliff was shaking his head. “Marc, what we had is over. I hate it as much as you do. But I’ve faced facts. We’re done. I’m trying to move on, and you should too.”

“Wait, wait.” He held his hands up in a T; Cliff had told him once they did that in sports to call a time-out. “I love you. You love me. How are you getting from there to ‘we’re done’? We’re not done! That was just Act One. It ended badly, but that doesn’t mean you don’t come back after intermission!”

“Yeah, it does. Marc, you didn’t just hurt me. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved any other guy, and you crushed my heart. I mean, crushed. It was two years ago and it still hurts almost every freaking day.”

Marc thought of that night – that stupid, hurried tryst mid-party, some guy he’d never seen again or wanted to, the few seconds of pleasure it had bought him. He’d known even then how high the price would be, and yet he’d done it. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You can’t know how sorry.”

“I do know. But I also know you did it anyway, because we were getting closer to really being something and you couldn’t handle that.” Cliff’s hands kept gripping the coffee cup, turning it around and around, the one outlet for his agitation. “Marc, you’re a romantic. You expect … somebody to see you, and you see them, and it’s all ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ and nobody ever has any problems ever again. Real relationships aren’t like that. They’re tough. They take work, and patience. Commitment even when it’s hard. And I don’t think you can do it. So I can’t trust my heart to you again. If you broke it one more time, I’d never get it put together.”

This couldn’t be happening. Marc tried once more, “I’m here, aren’t I? This isn’t easy. This is tough. And I’m willing to fight for us if you are.”

“I’m not.”

Silence fell, except for the hiss of the espresso machine. Marc felt like he could throw up, or cry. Either would be intensely humiliating. He thought he might try both at once, in a sort of ritual suicide of his dignity.

Finally Cliff said, “Listen. This is awkward, but – ”

“How does this get _more_ awkward?”

“I came here to meet a blind date.”

“… and there it goes.”

“I need to finally start over.” Cliff couldn’t meet his eyes any more. “Please let me try.”

What else was there to do? Marc had always heard there was something called “giving in gracefully.” It didn’t feel graceful. It felt like landing hard on the ground, like one of those pennies dropped from the Empire State Building that could kill a man.

But if there was nothing else he could do for Cliff, then he had to do this.

“Okay,” Marc said, rising from the table. “Okay.”

Neither of them said goodbye. At least in Marc’s case, that was because he didn’t trust himself to say anything else without choking up. He walked out of the coffee house as fast as he could, head down, staring only at the gleaming toes of his shoes as he went away as quickly as he could.

 _It’s over,_ he thought. _It’s all over._

Then slammed into someone, full-body, WHAM.

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” the guy said, catching Marc’s good arm to keep him from toppling off balance. “Are you okay?”

Their eyes met.

He was beautiful: African-American, almost as tall as Marc was himself, angular cheekbones, full lips, close-shorn hair, and impeccable silk T and designer jeans. A model, maybe? What caught Marc’s attention the most, though, was the look in his eyes – dreamy, almost awestruck. In this guy’s heart, right that moment, a full orchestra was playing “Some Enchanted Evening.”

And Marc might have been right on the same page, if his heart hadn’t just been smashed to smithereens by his one true love.

“I’m fine,” Marc said. “No injuries. Beyond the pre-existing,” he added, with a small shrug of his sequined sling.

“Didn’t hurt your arm worse, did I?” The man had started to smile.

“Nah.” It twinged, actually, but Marc felt he’d become more macho about this kind of thing since being shot. He’d make Mandy pet him and give him Excedrin and Perrier later. “Sorry. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“You could’ve walked right past your stop. I’m Roderick,” the man said. Which was all very sweet and promising until he said, “Please tell me you’re Cliff.”

This was Cliff’s blind date. This perfect, gorgeous, considerate man was about to walk into Cup-A-Cino and walk away with Cliff for all time.

Marc managed to point at the coffee house before he hurried off, wishing his shoes weren’t too tight for him to run, because he wanted to run as far away from this as possible.

**

Thanks to some super-concentrated effort throughout the afternoon, Betty was able to walk out of NYRB’s offices bang on time, all caught up, and with only a few files emailed to her home account for review in the morning. She’d actually make it to Daniel’s hearing in time, and be able to spend the whole evening helping him cope later on.

Quickly she dashed into the nearest ATM lobby to grab some twenties; afterward, Daniel might want to go to that little wine bar that only took cash, and he never remembered to carry actual money. As she punched in her PIN, she overheard a familiar voice from the corner of the lobby saying, “I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”

That was Connor Owens, wasn’t it? Betty glanced over, not particularly surprised to see him – but astonished to see that he was talking to Chaniel.

Chaniel frowned at his own ATM. “Overdrawn. I suppose that’s the last time I’ll see that word – because, yes, I’m going through with this.”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Connor insisted. “You should have dropped the scam the moment I said so.”

 _It’s a scam! It’s all a scam! And Connor’s behind it!_ Betty wanted to whirl around and start shouting at them both, but instead she pressed herself closer to her own ATM, hoping to avoid sight. Unfortunately, she also hit the key that said she wanted her instructions in Portuguese.

As she tried to figure out what the Portuguese for “fast cash” might be, Betty kept listening so intently she could almost feel her ears standing out from her head. Chaniel said, “I still don’t know who my birth parents are. So I think I’ll take these.”

“They’re Daniel’s family. It’s Daniel’s life. You can’t just take it from him!”

“Thanks to you, I can.”

Betty punched almost randomly at the screen – oh, hey, that was right! – and thought fast. She could text Daniel right away – well, once she got out of this building with all this weird interference. If she could reach the hearing before it began, maybe take a taxi instead of the subway, she could tell the authorities too. Daniel could put Chaniel in his place, reclaim his family and it would all be over.

Connor said, “They’ll find you out.”

“Not if you keep quiet. And you will, won’t you? Or Wilhelmina will drop you faster than last season’s handbag.” Chaniel stalked out. Connor simply stood there, and Betty remained in place, determined not to give the game away. If he saw her, he could warn Chaniel.

Though – he’d been arguing against the scam, hadn’t he?

Finally Connor walked out, and Betty breathed a sigh of relief. She slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out the door –

\--or tried to.

As Betty went through the door, it suddenly lost all its swing, clamping itself shut … or almost shut, since her ankle and her wrist were jammed between the door and the wall. She tried to tug her way through. “Ouch!”

“What happened?” said someone, who clearly wanted to get in to use the ATM.

“I think – I think the door’s lock was activated.” Betty pulled again; it hurt her foot more this time. She could have pulled her hand through if she’d been willing to let go of her handbag, but with her foot still stuck, that didn’t help. “Is there anybody in the bank?”

“They look closed, lady.” A nearby hot dog vendor had taken an interest too. “Somebody oughta call the cops.”

“I have a cell phone – ” Betty stared at her oversized handbag, containing said cell phone, and realized there was no way she could reach it with the door stuck like this, half in, half out. “Oh, my God. Someone, help!”

“The ATM door’s eatin’ somebody!” the vendor yelled, and a crowd began to form. They were all interested in gawping, but nobody seemed to have a way to get her out of here … and give her a chance to warn Daniel.

**

“Lawyers are way hotter on television,” Amanda complained as she sashayed through the hallway of the law firm on Marc’s good arm. “I mean, who fitted these people’s suits? They all look like potatoes in neckties. Especially the women.”

“Welcome to the dreariness of real life.” Marc couldn’t pretend to be anything but depressed. Even the sparkle of his sequins appeared to be mocking him. “It’s all ugly people and hard truths and unfortunate fashion trends, and then you die.”

“Cheer up, little tomato. The way I see it, you got good news today.”

“How do you see it? Through a screen that shows you Bizarro Earth, home of Bizarro Superman?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That was surprisingly geeky of you, Marc.”

His teenage nerd-dom was better left forgotten. “How is today good news?”

“Cliff’s not over you. Nothing else matters.” _Easy for her to be blithe,_ Marc thought, and he might have snapped at her if she hadn’t sucked in a sharp breath as Tyler rounded the corner. “Tyler! Hi! We’re here for moral support!”

Tyler nodded slowly. “Thanks,” he said, and he seemed to mean it, but he didn’t try to take Amanda’s arm from Marc. Her face fell, and he pulled her a little closer. If all the guys in the world turned away from them at once … at least they still had each other.

**

He should have hugged Amanda, Tyler knew. Thanked her. Just knowing she was near soothed something within him: That remained true.

But she was his brother’s ex-girlfriend. Ex-lover. And apparently they’d been involved for a long time. Years, maybe? Tyler couldn’t bring himself to ask, but it seared him not to know.

Was she only with him because he was the closest thing to Daniel she could get?

During the entire Chaniel saga, Tyler had been reminded just how new a family member he was. All of them dealt with the crisis smoothly, or so it had seemed to him; the bonds they were tormented by losing were bonds he hadn’t fully gained yet. The memories tainted weren’t his memories. It wasn’t that he doubted their love for him, or his love for them, but it was a bad moment to find out that Daniel had even gotten to Amanda first.

When Tyler walked into the conference room for the hearing, though, he saw Daniel sitting near the front, looking very pale and tense. Obviously this wasn’t the time to fixate on his own insecurities; he needed to think of somebody else for a little while.

Tyler took a seat beside Daniel, who looked up quickly, then slumped back … disappointed, apparently. “What’s the matter?” Tyler said. “Right this second, I mean. You can make a list if you have to.”

“I thought you might be Betty.” That’s right, Tyler remembered – they were friends. “Glad you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?”

Daniel shrugged.

Tyler realized then that he’d let his bad mood show the past few days, and that Daniel had thought it was about this whole DNA thing. How stupid could you get? “Hey. I’m here for you. All right?”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t.” Daniel sighed and twisted his neck, as if it were sore from tension. “I mean, I gave you a hard enough time about being in this family, and it turns out you always belonged here, but I never did.”

Only the most important things mattered now, Tyler decided; all the stuff about Amanda could wait. “Listen, no matter what the tests say, or what happens in this hearing, I know who my brother is. He’s the guy who walked into that hostage situation to try and get me out. End of story.”

“Okay.” Daniel clapped one hand on his shoulder, and they were on the same page again, at least for the moment. But he kept glancing toward the door, and Tyler overheard him mutter, “Where can Betty be?”

**

“Everybody stand back!” the fireman said as he lifted the power saw. “Cover your ears, and if you used hairspray or some of that gel stuff, look out, because the sparks can set hair on fire!”

“Oh, my God.” Betty stared at the blade, which was being angled against the door only about a foot over her trapped wrist.

The crowd began to murmur as the power saw started roaring, and Betty shrank down as far as possible. Her foot was starting to go numb, and every single fiber of her being thought it would be better to wait for the bank technicians to override the faulty security lockdown – but the hearing was starting, any second. They’d sign papers at that hearing, papers that might be binding no matter what truths might later come out. And every moment Daniel believed he was somebody he wasn’t was a moment too long.

She’d just have to deal with it.

As the cutting started, and the vibration rocked her, Betty put her free hand over her head and yelped, “Is mousse flammable too?”

**

“I’m sorry,” the security guard said. “Only invited family and business associates are permitted inside for the hearing.”

“Oh, I get it.” Hilda brushed her hair back from her face and gave him her most winning smile. “You think we’re, like, paparazzi or something. We’ll, we’re not. I mean, look at us!”

Her father drew himself up at his most dignified, though the big medical bracelet he still wore around his wrist kind of took away from that. Elena looked great, as did Bobby – aw, her sweetie – and of course she was fantastic. Justin and Austin, though … they did look a little too eager to get inside. Maybe if Austin would stop bouncing up and down on his heels.

“Invited family and business associates only,” the guard repeated.

“They’re family,” said Wilhelmina Slater, of all people. Her lavender linen sheath dress exactly matched the rims of the Jackie O sunglasses she wore. “Very distant cousins, let’s say. I’ll vouch for them.”

The guard was unimpressed. “And you are?”

Justin gaped. “Hello, this is Wilhelmina Slater, number one fashion diva of the past decade, editor of MODE and woman whose Ferragamo heels you are unworthy to polish.”

“That’s enough, Justin.” Wilhelmina’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as she looked at him, as close as somebody like that could get to a smile, Hilda figured. “I thought we’d hired you, young man. Maybe it’s some other eager little gay person. Hmm. Anyway, if you check, sir, you’ll see my name is on the list.”

“No guests are – ” The security guard’s protest trailed off as Wilhelmina gave him a stare icy cold enough to freeze lava. No doubt about it: They were in.

 _I gotta ask her how she does that,_ Hilda thought.

**

“This little punk can be whipped into shape,” Yoga said, the faintest of smiles appearing on her face as the elevator display announced they were on the 32nd floor … the 33rd … the 34th. “Anybody can be whipped into shape. You learn that in the joint. Whipped you into shape, didn’t I?”

Despite the gloom in her heart, Claire managed to grin back. “I suppose this doesn’t count as the lowest moment in Meade family history. But only because there’s so much competition. If I just felt something for Chaniel … the other one, I mean. Something at all.”

“Takes time.”

“I know.” Claire rubbed at her temples. “But Daniel … he was always the one I was closest to.”

“That doesn’t change.”

“No. It only makes me wonder how many things I was wrong about.”

“Fish, you were wrong about only three things in life.” Yoga counted them off on her fingers. “You used the poisoned perfume your husband’s ho-bag gave you, you kept hitting the bottle until the bottle hit you back, and you walked around all this time thinking you were straight. That’s it. You love your boy because he’s your boy. Nothing’s wrong about that.”

“What did I ever do without you?”

**

As the frame of the bank door fell away, Betty stumbled free and the crowd began to applaud. She couldn’t quite stand straight – the day to try mega-high wedges was not the day your whole leg went numb – but she was able to brace herself against a NO PARKING sign.

“All right! Nothing more to see here! Move along!” the fireman yelled. “You okay. You need to see a doctor or something?”

Betty pushed her hair back from her face, aware that she probably looked a little like she’d been caught in a tornado. Grease marks from the door ringed her ankle and wrist. “No. I’m fine.”

She went for her bag – but the hearing would already have begun. Even Daniel wouldn’t answer his phone during a legal proceeding. If she didn’t get there as fast as possible, Chaniel might win.

So Betty turned back to the fireman and said, “Actually, can you get me someplace in a really big hurry?” And she gave him her absolute best, most brilliant smile.

Which, she thought, was probably how she wound up riding downtown on the back of a fire engine, with its lights flashing and sirens wailing to tell Daniel she was on her way.

**

Daniel kept searching for Betty until the judge finally came in and began calling them to order, several minutes late. He took one more look at his cell phone, hoping for a text or at least something … but nothing.

 _You know she tried_ , Daniel told himself. _Probably she’s stuck on the subway. The main thing is being with her afterwards._

Then he looked around the hearing room and saw all the people seated nearby – each and every one, besides Chaniel and his lawyers, there to support him. Even Alexis and DJ, both of whom he’d had to lose in order to find again. Even the whole Suarez family, including the ones he’d hardly spoken to, like Elena and Austin. Even Wilhelmina, whose sole purpose in life had once been to take him down, and Marc, who’d done a very good job of helping her. Even Tyler, the brother he’d tried to throw away, and Amanda, the girl he had thrown away and who had forgiven him despite it. Even Yoga. Jesus.

And always, of course, Mom.

He’d lost nothing that mattered. And maybe he’d gained something worth having – the sure knowledge of just how many people in this world had his back.

Smiling slightly, Daniel shut off his phone and turned toward the judge. From the corner of his eye he could see Chaniel frowning – no doubt confused about Daniel’s calm in the face of adversity – but that guy didn’t really matter.

The judge said, “We are here today to redress an old mistake. I understand lawyers for both parties have proposals about the fair redistribution of the Meade family fortune?”

“We have very different proposals,” said one of Chaniel’s lawyers. So the guy wanted an even bigger piece of the pie.

Just let me keep the apartment, Daniel thought.

But then the back doors of the hearing room flew open with a bang, and a voice cried out, “Stop! That man is lying!”

Astonished, Daniel turned around to see Connor Owens standing there – one finger pointed at Chaniel.

“It’s all a lie,” Connor said, brushing off the security guards that had only just caught up with him. “And I should know. I helped him tell it.”

**

Betty was kind of surprised that a big law firm like this one didn’t have any security personnel at their front desk, but she was glad to have no delays between her and the elevator, and between the elevator and the hearing room. 47A, 47B, where was it? She limped slightly as she ran – circulation was returning to her leg, but slowly – and made it just in time to see Connor standing in the doorway ahead of her.

She came closer as she listened, mouth agape with surprise as Connor confessed. “Years ago, when it was first revealed that Chad Pulaski had been switched at birth, the hospital came to Bradford Meade during the investigation. He put the papers aside – and when I was in charge of Meade finances, I came across them. I … had hard feelings toward Daniel at the time. I did a little digging of my own and then put them aside, in case I ever wanted to use them later.”

This was hard for him to say, Betty realized as she crept into the doorway; his posture was like that of a man who expected to be struck at any moment. Yet Connor kept talking.

“This spring, I thought I would use them. I contacted Pulaski and told him about the possibilities. He was in. A few hundred-dollar bills to some technicians at New York’s leading DNA banks, and the con was as good as set. But then, Wilhelmina – she told me she was loyal to the Meades again. That she wanted them protected at any cost. She knew nothing of my plan, nothing at all, but I knew that if she found out, she’d be furious. So I dropped it. I told Pulaski it was called off. He went ahead without me.”

Betty could see into the hearing room now. Everyone looked as completely flabbergasted as she felt, but perhaps Wilhelmina most of all.

Connor finished, “I think Pulaski actually hopes it’s true, that he’s a Meade after all and this was a con built on the truth rather than a lie. That’s because I didn’t tell him something I learned on my own … the hospital made two errors with him, not just one. They got his birthdate wrong. He was actually born just after midnight, not before – so he should be looking at boys born the next day. One of them, he was swapped with. But not Daniel, who is definitely, absolutely, the only Daniel Meade.”

For a moment, nobody spoke – until Amanda leaped up, hands in the air, and yelled, “Yes!”

Then everybody was clapping and cheering, hugging each other and carrying on. She was thrilled to see Claire immediately wrap Daniel in a bear hug that was quickly joined by everybody in the Meade clan. The only ones not joining in the instant celebration were Chaniel and his lawyers (who looked pretty angry at him); Wilhelmina, who was sitting very still in the back row; and Connor, who stood in the door way, almost limp with exhaustion.

Betty put one hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “You did the right thing.”

“Just in time to go back to prison,” Connor replied. “And have Willie throw me out on my ass.”

“Doing the right thing when it’s hard is when it counts most.”

“You’re like a greeting card that never stops.” But Connor smiled at her tiredly as he said it.

Betty pushed her way into the room and into the heart of her family, who stopped bouncing up and down only long enough to get in the bounce with her. Well, Papi didn’t bounce, but he was cheering as loudly as the others. “This is amazing!” Hilda yelled as she hugged Betty.

“The checkup went okay?” Betty asked, and only grinned wider as her father nodded.

“I’m ready to party!” Papi declared. “There’s gonna be a party after this, right?”

“With Daniel Meade? You better believe it!” Justin said, high-fiving Austin.

Then Betty pressed on, past Amanda and Marc, who were doing a kind of improvised disco dance; she joined in “the bump” for a couple seconds before hurrying up toward the Meades. Daniel finally saw her. “Betty!”

“Daniel! I’m coming!” But she was jostled slightly as Chaniel and his legal team started stalking out of the hearing room. “Excuse you,” she grumbled.

Over the din, Daniel yelled, “Hey! Pulaski!”

The entire room fell silent. Chaniel turned back to face him – and try as she might, Betty couldn’t see a heartless schemer there. She saw a guy who had no idea who he was, and no idea how to find out.

Everyone, including Chaniel, was clearly expecting Daniel to put him in his place. Wasn’t it his right?

But Daniel said only, “Call your mom.”

Chaniel’s eyes widened, but he simply hurried through the door without saying another word.

Instantly everyone started laughing and cheering again, and Betty finally got to Daniel and threw her arms around him. “It’s over,” she whispered. “It’s all over.”

“Nothing’s changed. Nothing changed before; nothing changed now.” Daniel leaned back from her, a tender smile on his face. “I know who I am, and I know who loves me. Who I love.” He frowned. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Fine. I’ll explain later.” She couldn’t resist the smile spreading across her face. “Right now I have better things to do.”

Betty took Daniel’s face in her hands and kissed him; he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist, opening her mouth with his own, kissing her with all the enthusiasm and joy she knew he felt in his heart. She knew because she felt it too. And nothing in the world could be more perfect than this –

\--but wasn’t it awfully quiet in here all of a sudden?

As their lips parted, Betty looked out over the courtroom of people – both their families, and their friends from MODE – all of whom were staring at them wide-eyed, like the two of them had just sprouted antlers. Hadn’t they ever seen a boyfriend and girlfriend kiss before?

 _Wait a minute,_ she thought. _They don’t know about us!_

 _Well, they didn’t. They do now._

Never letting go of her, Daniel whispered, “I may have forgotten to mention something.”

“Me too.” Betty started to laugh. “I think they get the picture.” Just in case they didn’t, she kissed him again.

**

The afterparty, in Daniel’s opinion, was one for the record books.

No, it wasn’t the wildest bash he’d ever been to; his building’s rooftop deck was nice enough, and they’d managed to get champagne ordered in, but it was just a few string of lights for decoration, besides the glittering cityscape beyond them. Nor was the guest list large: Only the friends and family who had come to his hearing. But that was what made it great.

Even the unlikeliest guest of all.

“Your father shut down the investigation,” Connor said. He sat on the very edge of one the wicker chaises, forearms on his knees, as if he were determined not to be at ease. “He wasn’t interested in pursing it any further.”

Daniel thought that over. “Once he knew I was his, you mean. After he found out about the birth date mixup.”

Connor shook his head. “No. I mean, your dad didn’t care. He just shut it down, period.”

“He – didn’t know whether I was his birth son or not. And he didn’t want to know if Chaniel was.”

“Guess not.”

As the realization dawned upon him, Daniel turned to Betty, who was curled next to him on the chaise. “Betty – he picked me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see? Dad didn’t want another son. He wanted me.” His whole life, he’d thought his father looked at him and only saw his flaws. He would never have dreamed that there had been a moment when Dad had been able to choose whether or not to continue thinking of Daniel as his son – or that, if the choice came, Dad would pick him. But it had been true all along. “He picked me,” Daniel repeated, and this time Betty understood. She wrapped her arms around him for a moment, until he could swallow the lump in his throat.

When they parted, Connor looked even more embarrassed to be there than before. “I should go.”

“If you want to stay, it’s all right with me.” Daniel gestured over at Wilhelmina, who still looked rather icy at the far corner of the deck. “Take her some champagne. Might help.”

Connor squinted at Daniel as if he were having to translate all this from some unfamiliar language. “You’re – not pressing charges. You’re not even mad.”

“You took it back in the nick of time. That’s the main thing,” Daniel said. “As for the rest – can we finally let this all go now?”

“Absolutely.” Connor put his hand out for a shake, Daniel took it, and it felt like dropping the heaviest weight ever. To judge by Connor’s smile, he thought so too.

As Connor headed over to the champagne waiter, Hilda bounded up to them, as giddy as a high-school cheerleader. “This is how I learn about the big romance? You two don’t tell anybody, just start making out in public?”

“You call that making out?” Daniel slipped his arm even more firmly around Betty’s waist. Her skin was so warm beneath that pretty dress; the best moments of this party were going to happen after everybody else went home. “We haven’t even gotten started.”

“Stop it.” Betty swatted him, but playfully. “Hilda, I’m sorry. You were right. We have some serious catching up to do.”

“And we’re gonna do it,” Hilda promised, but her eyes were already flicking back and forth between them speculatively. “Some other night, I’m guessing.”

“Hilda!” Although Betty’s cheeks were flushed, she was giggling, as caught up in the bubbly delight of the evening as he was.

This was when Mom swaggered up, holding a glass of the sparkling cider he’d ordered in for her and Tyler. The look on her face couldn’t have said “cat that ate the canary” any louder unless she’d actually had yellow feathers sticking out from her lips. “Oh, no,” Daniel said. “Here it comes.”

“Where what comes?” Hilda looked back and forth between them.

Laughing, Daniel held one up one hand as if he could hold it off. “Mom, say anything – anything! – but don’t say –”

“I told you so,” they finished in unison, and Mom looked even more pleased with herself, if that was even possible.

“You told him so? About Chaniel?”

“About you, dear.” His mother took a seat too near them and patted Betty’s arm. “I’ve been expecting this for quite a while.”

“Longer than us, then,” Betty said. She put her head on Daniel’s shoulder. “But we caught up. Didn’t we?”

“We did.” Daniel thought there was nothing left in the world that could make him unhappy at this moment. Nothing at all.

**

Outside Betty’s building, a finger pressed the buzzer to her apartment for the third time, still hoping against hope. He’d tried calling, but apparently she wasn’t answering right now. She was … out. Even Betty sometimes went out on weeknights.

That was okay. He’d talk to her soon. And then maybe they’d finally be able to put some things right that should never have gone wrong.

With that, Matt Hartley shouldered his bag and walked down the street, into the night.

 

THE END

 

 _Tune in next time for “Boys Will Be Boys.”_

 _(Songs from this episode: “White Knuckles,” OK Go; “There And Back Again,” The Legends; “L-O-V-E,” Joss Stone)_


End file.
